When I finish a sentence, after much labor, it's finished. A certain point comes at which you can't do any more work on it because you know it will kill the sentence.

In my books you have to concentrate, but I work hard to make it that, when you do, the rewards are quite high.

That's one of the many things I hate about life, that it's a hideously cliched business.

If they give me the bloody prize, why can't they say nice things about me?

The white May blossom swooned slowly into the open mouth of the grave.

I am the worst judge of my books.

We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations.